


If It's Love

by bfketh



Series: At Your Service [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Background Relationships, Fluff, M/M, Maid!Jean, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Smut, Writer!Marco
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-28
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-01-14 02:32:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1249492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bfketh/pseuds/bfketh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco Bodt has finally established himself as a successful author, but with success comes a certain lack of free time. Confronted with a messy house growing out of hand, Marco finally caves to his literary agent's urgings and hires a maid. Enter Jean Kirschstein, part-time housekeeper (don't call him a maid to his face) who, despite his surly attitude and inexplicable tendency to break things around Marco, manages not to get fired. Perhaps Jean has other assets that are making Marco want to keep him around...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In the Beginning, There Was Clutter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheFaceofaMouse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFaceofaMouse/gifts).



"Marco, why are you eating cereal out of a mixing bowl?"

Marco looked up as Hanji dropped her messenger bag on his kitchen table. "Um, it was the only thing clean?"

She followed his glance over to the sink. Although you couldn't really _see_ the sink. It was more like she looked over to the pile of dishes in the general vicinity of where the sink had been. She looked back at Marco and shook her head, "Marco, Marco, Marco. Whatever happened to the tidy young man I took under my wing three years ago?"

"He's currently trying to finish a novel in time for the deadline Mr. Smith gave him, balancing promotional appearances and book signings for the one that was just published, and going over the screenplay and consulting with the studio for the adaptation of the novel that came out before that." Marco smiled sheepishly and scrubbed a hand through his hair as he leaned back, "Honestly, I'm lucky I can still find time to shower and make sure I have clean clothes. I go to bed every night in fear of the eventual dust bunny revolution."

Hanji flopped gracelessly into a chair next to Marco and patted his shoulder, "I know, sweetie. But, still, it's good to be busy, right? It means people are really starting to recognize your work."

"I know, and I really want to thank you for that; you've been a great agent for me. I just kinda wish I wasn't so exhausted all the time. And that people wouldn't look at me when I say that and go, 'But how could you be _tired_? You just sit at a computer all day; it's not like it's real _work_ ,'" he sighed and shoveled more of his breakfast into his mouth.

"Wow, did Mr. Bodt just complain about something? I should make a note on this for posterity." Marco just rolled his eyes at her as she started to rifle through her bag. He was fairly sure she was joking about the note.

Maybe.

"Still," she continued as she shuffled through her papers, "you should really do something about those dishes. Or maybe you could leave them longer, and then we could examine them for exciting new lifeforms."

"I'd rather not end up paralyzed after getting zapped by sentient blue slime, thanks."

"Oh, come on, you loved that episode...Aha! Found it!" She raised a business card up over head and waved it around in triumph before grinning and handing it to him.

Marco took it from her and turned it over in his hands. It was fairly simple; the name and contact info in a crisp block-type font and the company logo, a white wing crossing over a black wing, stamped in the corner. He read the card out loud, "'Survey Corps Cleaning Service' Hanji, what...?"

"It's a maid service! An old college friend of mine runs it! You just get a hold of them, and they'll send someone over three times a week. You'll be able to concentrate on your writing, and you won't have to worry about ending up on an episode of Hoarders."

Marco chuckled, "It's not that bad! Besides, you should talk about Hoarders; I remember what your apartment looked like before Moblit finally moved in with you."

"We're not talking about me now, sweetie; we're talking about you. I can't have one of my best authors eaten to death in the middle of the night by rebellious dust bunnies. Give them a call."

Marco absently ran one hand through his hair as he flipped the card over and over in his other hand, "Maybe... I'm not really sure how I feel about a stranger going in and out of my house, though."

"I told you, I know the company's owner. You don't have to worry about anyone Levi's hired. Come on, have I ever steered you wrong before?"

"I guess... How much does this kind of thing cost, anyway?"

She shrugged and looked at him over the top of her glasses, "It's not that bad. Well within what you can afford. You're not a struggling writer anymore, Marco. You're a best-selling published author with a contract with a major publishing house, a movie deal, and a highly-anticipated sequel in the works. Live a little. Pay someone else to pick up after you for a change."

"The last person to pick up after me was my mom." He smiled, "Maybe I should save my money and just invite her over. She'd take one look at this place and start cleaning without me saying anything."

"Marcoooo..."

"Alright, alright," he held up his hands in defeat. "I know you never give up when you're determined about something. I'll give them a call."

"Excellent!" Hanji grinned and pulled up her day planner on her phone, "Now, about your schedule for today..."

Marco shook his head and smiled softly as he tucked the business card in his pocket before leaning forward and giving Hanji his full attention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title of the story taken from the Train song of the same name. It kind of encompasses the mood I want for this whole thing. These dorks need more happy AUs, damn it. Credit for the AU idea goes to TheFaceofaMouse.
> 
> Future chapters should be longer; this is just to get the ball rolling. Also, next chapter will be from Jean's POV.
> 
> Spot the Cowboy Bebop reference.
> 
> Hanji and Marco totally get together when they're not so busy for anime marathons, don't even lie. Nerds.


	2. Maid to Order

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This takes place in Washington State, in case you were wondering.
> 
> No particular reason, I've just always thought it was a pretty area of the country.

"Yo, Jean."

Jean sighed as he finished punching in his time card. It was too early and too... _Monday_ for this shit. "What is it, Eren?"

"Levi wants to see you in his office."

"Shit, what, is he gonna yell at me some more? I already served my suspension; it shouldn't matter now."

Eren shrugged, "He didn't say what it was about. But if he _is_ mad, keeping him waiting isn't going to help."

Eren was right. God damn it, Jean hated it when Eren was right. He also hated the way Eren hummed the funeral march as he trudged past him and into Levi's office.

Levi didn't even look up from his computer screen as Jean closed the door behind him; he merely gestured to one of the chairs facing him. Jean sat down and stared across the mahogany expanse of the desk as he waited for Levi to acknowledge him. The surface gleamed with a shine that was a bitch and a half to maintain. Jean should know; he'd spent the month of his suspension from client assignments cleaning the headquarters. To Levi's rather particular and exacting standards.

Levi finally finished with his computer and turned to face him. "Jean..."

"Look, Levi, if that bitch is still making trouble just because I wouldn't sleep with her-"

"Jesus fuck, no. Calm down. Although, in the future, you might want to find a better way to turn down a client than calling them a, what was it?" Levi paused, his silver eyes narrowing, "'A crag-toothed harpy with a withered vagina.' Or better yet, if you have problems like that again, tell me, and _I'll_ deal with it. I don't need anyone treating my people like they think we're a goddamned escort service." He slid a folder over to Jean, "Here, new assignment. And don't fuck this one up. This kid's a referral from an acquaintance, and I don't need that shitty glasses to have an excuse to come down here and talk my ear off."

Jean flipped through the portfolio. One Marco Bodt, age 28. So only a year older than Jean. Looked like he had a nice one story ranch on the outskirts of town. No upstairs to deal with, thank God. Standard Monday-Wednesday-Friday job. Oh, but _this_ was interesting.

"He doesn't care what time I come over to clean?" Usually people were pretty specific about that; some of them wanted the housekeepers (Jean _refused_ to call himself a maid) to come in while they were gone, like they were magical elves or some shit. Others wanted them there when they could see them, as if they were afraid Jean or his coworkers would make off with Grandma's cheap costume jewelry while their backs were turned.

"Nah. Kid's a writer or some shit, works from home. I've got your first appointment set for this morning at ten. You can work out with him when you'll be coming in then. Now get the fuck out of my office."

"Yes, sir." Jean certainly didn't need to be told twice. Just as he put his hand on the doorknob, Levi's voice stopped him.

"Kirschstein."

"Yeah?"

"I mean it. Don't. Fuck. This. Up." Levi shot him one last intimidating glare before turning back to his computer.

Jean had barely made it back to the employee lockers when Eren snatched the folder out of his hands. "Wow, you actually got another assignment? I'm impressed."

Jean grabbed it back. "Don't you have anything better to do than bug me, Eren?"

The young man shrugged, "Like what?"

"I don't know. Levi seemed pretty tense when I was in there; why don't you go suck his dick?"

Ah, _that_ got a reaction. "Fuck you, horseface."

"Hell no. Not even if you had Reiner's dick, Jaeger."

"What?" Eren's brows knitted together in confusion. "Why Reiner's dick?"

"Because," a deep voice drawled behind them, "my dick is magnificent, and everyone should aspire to be fucked by it." Reiner walked into the room and gave Jean a high-five before turning to the tall man following him, "Isn't that right, Bertl?"

"Please leave me out of this," Bertholt muttered as he shuffled over to open his locker.

Eren rolled his eyes at the other two, "You are both disgusting."

Jean laughed, "I think you've been spending too much time with your boyfriend."

Reiner nodded sagely, "If he starts calling us shitty brats, that's when we know it's time to stage the intervention."

Eren glared at them, but just when he opened his mouth to retort, a shout cracked across the room.

"Eren! Get your ass in my office! Now!"

Reiner elbowed Jean, "You hear that? The boss needs Eren's ass."

Eren threw his hands in the air and walked away as Jean and Reiner giggled like maniacs, "I swear, both of you are still twelve years old."

Jean was still laughing to himself as he pulled his equipment out of his locker and prepared to head out. He and Eren got along a lot better now than they did when they were in high school, a combination of them both mellowing out as they got older and Armin getting tired of their shit in 11th grade. (Armin's solution had involved Annie and Mikasa forcing the two of them into a small, dark room for several hours. He'd reasoned that they'd either reach a compromise or end up killing each other. Either way, the fighting would stop.) It was still way too easy and amusing to rile Eren up, however.

"Hey, Jean," Reiner stopped him before he could head out to his car, "Bertholt and I are having a few people over Saturday night. You in?"

"What, and be a third wheel? Nah, probaly not."

"Fifth wheel. Armin and Annie are coming over," Reiner corrected him.

"And that makes it _so_ much better," Jean rolled his eyes.

"So bring Laura with you, then. Come on, it'll be fun."

"'Fun' and 'Laura' do not belong together in the same sentence. Besides, we broke up."

"What? Already?!" Reiner clapped a large hand on Jean's shoulder. Jean managed not to stagger too badly. The big blond really didn't know his own strength sometimes. Reiner sighed, "What am I going to do with you? You're a grown man, and I don't think you've ever had a relationship that's lasted more than four months. What was it this time?"

Jean brushed off Reiner's hand and crossed his arms, "Well, it was bad enough when she was accusing me of sleeping around with clients. The last straw was when I went out with Armin on that dig last weekend because their photographer had gotten sick at the last minute. I hadn't been back and in the apartment five minutes and she was oh-so-subtly dropping hints that I'd had Armin's dick up my ass the entire weekend."

"B-but Armin's straight!" Bertholt stammered, and then he squeaked a little and looked away when Jean and Reiner looked up at him.

"And married. And his wife could probably kill us both with one hand tied behind her back if she wanted. Anyway, I was tired of not being able to hang out with _any_ of my friends without getting the third degree, so, while she was still screaming at me, I grabbed all her shit from my place, tossed it in a box, and shoved it and her out the door. I told Laura that if she couldn't trust me to keep it in my pants, then she could go find someone else to make miserable." Jean was rather proud of that last part. The look on her face as he'd slammed the door shut had been _priceless_.

Reiner wagged a finger at him, "You know what your problem is, Jean?"

"The second you tell someone you're pan, they assume you're a giant nympho with the self control of a cat in heat?"

"No." Reiner leaned down so he could look Jean in the eyes, "You need to stop dating crazy people. Find someone normal for a change."

"Reiner, have you _met_ me?" He held out his hand, "Hi, I'm Jean Kirschstein. I'm a surly, cynical bastard who doesn't think he should have to sugarcoat what he says or outright lie just to spare someone's feelings, and I've been told by reliable sources that my face frightens small children." He sighed, "Normal people don't put up with my shit long enough to make it past three dates. Hell, _I_ wouldn't put up with my shit, either."

"Bullshit. You could say the same thing about Ymir or Annie, and they're both in stable, long-term relationships."

"Yeah, but Christa and Armin are the two nicest people on the planet. What are the odds of finding a third person that nice, and finding them here in _Trost_ of all places?" Jean scrubbed his hand through his hair. The undercut was starting to get a little shaggy; it was probably time to get it touched up again. "Look, Reiner, I gotta go, or I'm going to be late. Besides, I think I've reached my quota for touchy-feely crap for one day."

Reiner and Bertholt waved after him as he left, Reiner calling out, "If you change your mind about Saturday, show up at seven. Bring wine!"

Back at his car, Jean loaded his cleaning supplies in the trunk before getting in and pulling out of the parking garage. One thing Levi had ruthlessly driven into his head during the years he'd worked with Survey was to always bring your own stuff to a job at first because you never knew what kind of subpar shit the troglodytes that hired you had been buying.

The drive up to the new client's house was nice. Trost wasn't a huge city; it didn't take very long for Jean to make his way out of the suburbs and into the area near the city that wasn't quite wilderness and wasn't quite civilization. Once he was free of the smog, Jean cracked his window, breathing in the deep scent of the pine forests and the faint tang of the nearby Pacific Ocean. About twenty minutes after leaving the agency, Jean pulled up the long driveway and got out. The house itself was normal enough, just a simple single-story brick building with what looked like a huge deck on the back, but the scenery was _amazing_. Pine trees screened the front of the property from the road, and behind the house the neatly manicured lawn gave way to a meadow that sloped up to meet a darker line of forest, eventually fading into blue-tinged mountains in the distance. Jean's hands itched for his camera. He promised himself to bring it next time, and walked up to the front door and rang the bell.

 _'This does kind of look like a writer's house,'_ Jean thought to himself as he waited at the door. He found himself wondering what Marco Bodt was like. Probably pale from sitting inside at a computer all day, and either stick-thin or maybe kind of pudgy from not getting any exercise. Just then, the door opened, ending his speculation.

 _'HOLY SHIT'_ was the only thing running through Jean's mind. He felt his mouth starting to drop open and quickly snapped it shut. Whatever he'd been expecting, the man standing in front of him was definitely, certainly not it.

He was tall, a couple inches taller than Jean, anyway, and tanned, but not so tan that the freckles dusting his cheeks and nose didn't stand out clearly. He was wearing a dark blue button-up, the sleeves of which were rolled up just past his elbow, displaying well-toned forearms (and more freckles), and his jeans were _just_ on the right side of tight.

And then the Adonis ran one hand sheepishly through his thick black hair and smiled. And Jean couldn't help but notice the tiny dimple on his right cheek, or the way even his soft brown eyes seemed to join in the smile, lighting up and warming his entire face.

_'Oh, sweet freckled Jesus, you are in so much trouble, Kirschstein.'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jean is a giant dork. Always.
> 
> Reiner makes any scene 1000X better.
> 
> The single quotation marks and italics indicate internal thoughts, in case it wasn't clear.


	3. Dubious Potential

_“So, you’ve got an appointment with your new maid at ten in the morning at your house on Monday.”_

“What?” Marco’s head shot up and he nearly dropped his cell phone from where he’d had it propped between his shoulder and his ear. He’d been on a roll with his manuscript when Hanji had called, so he’d only been half-listening to her as he continued to type away at his keyboard.

_“You. Maid. Appointment. 10 A.M. We talked about this a few days ago. Remember, sweetie?”_

“Yeah, and I haven’t called them yet, so why do I suddenly have an appointment?” Marco turned away from his desk, the manuscript forgotten. One hand clutched at the phone while the other tangled in his hair.

Her voice echoed cheerfully in his ear, _“Well, as your agent, it’s my job to manage your schedule, so I just went ahead and took care of it for you! Now you don’t have to worry about it!”_

“I don’t think this falls under your job description, Hanji…”

_“Of course it does! It’s my theory that you should be able to increase your productivity by at least ten percent if you have a clean and healthy work environment.”_

Marco sighed and leaned his head back into the chair. There was no arguing with Hanji when she got like this. “Fine. Then I guess I’ll see them Monday.”

_“Oh, come on. You can sound a little more enthusiastic than that, Marco. Who knows? Your new maid might be cute!”_

“Hanji. I’m hiring someone to clean my house, not to…to _ogle_ at them like a hormonal teenager.”

_“All I’m saying is, I’ve known you for over three years, and in all that time, you’ve hardly ever socialized with anyone except me and Moblit. You’re too young to be turning into a hermit. Get out of the house. Go on some dates. Live a little.”_

Marco took off his reading glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I just want to concentrate on my work right now. Besides, you’re making it sound like I don’t have any friends. I have friends.”

_“Facebook doesn’t count, sweetie.”_

“Hanging up now.”

~~~~~

Monday came a little too fast for Marco’s taste. He tried to get some of the mess under control with admittedly limited success. At least you could see the sink now. Kind of. A part of him argued with himself that cleaning was just defeating the purpose of hiring a maid in the first place, but another, more vocal, part argued back that first impressions were important. He didn’t want whoever it was thinking that he was a complete slob. Because he wasn’t. He was just busy.

 _‘Just keep telling yourself that, Marco. Because it’s sooo convincing right now.’_ He sighed and started to try to bring some semblance of order to the overflowing mess of papers, sticky notes, and miscellaneous detritus covering his desk. He was staring at a torn, greasy napkin and trying to remember what he’d meant when he’d scrawled “Ch. 10, Ilse w. corridor – inside the breach” on it when the doorbell rang. He jumped up, dropping the napkin and banging his knee on the corner of the desk in the process.

Limping slightly, Marco made his way down the hallway and through the living room to the front door. He paused with his hand on the knob, took a deep breath, and opened it.

Marco wasn’t sure what he was expecting on the other side of the door. The word “maid” tended to conjure up images of ruffles and lace and crisp white aprons. It certainly didn’t seem to match the scowling man standing on his front porch.

He looked to be about the same age as Marco, and his hair was styled in a somewhat untidy undercut, the top of which looked bleached, a sandy blondish brown contrasting with the dark brown undersides. He was slightly shorter than Marco and maybe a little broader through the chest and shoulders. He was wearing a uniform consisting of khaki pants and a dark green polo which had the logo of the cleaning company emblazoned on the sides of both the sleeves. He did have an apron, but it was short and brown, slung low across his hips. They were nice hips; narrow, and the line of the man’s long torso tapered gracefully down to meet them-

 _‘Oh my god, Marco, stop staring at his hips. Don’t be creepy.’_ Marco mentally shook himself and snapped his attention up to meet a pair of eyes that were such a light brown that Marco could only think of them as honey-colored. _‘Wow. He’d be really handsome if he smiled. …Okaaaay, where did that come from? Maybe Hanji is right. Maybe I do need to get out more.’_

As he realized that they’d been standing there in silence for an uncomfortably long amount of time, Marco smiled and nervously ran a hand through his hair, “Hi! I’m Marco, and you are…?”

The other man seemed to snap out of a daze, “Oh. Um, Jean Kirschstein. I, uh, I’m your new _housekeeper_.” He narrowed his eyes as he said the last word, almost as if he were challenging Marco to call him a maid.

Marco laughed a little and stepped aside, gesturing Jean into the house, “So, I guess we should get started? I’m not really sure how this works; I’ve never had a m- had someone to clean my house before.”

Jean snorted, probably at his almost slip up, and set the duffel bag he was carrying down by the front closet, “First, you give me a tour, and let me know if there are any areas off-limits or things you don’t want touched, then we work out when I’ll be coming in from now on, and then I get to cleaning. Oh, and it would be best if you gave me a key. You don’t have to, but if you don’t, I’ll have to call you every time I’m scheduled to make sure you’re home before I come out. And if I can’t clean on a scheduled day because you’re out, you’ll still be charged for it because I’ll have to do twice as much work the next time I come in.”

Marco shrugged, “A key shouldn’t be a problem. Hanji, my agent, has one, and I’m pretty used to her popping in and out as she pleases. As for off-limits, I guess the desk in my office? If I get an idea when I don’t have my computer, I tend to write it down on whatever paper I can find, and it all ends up there eventually.”

Jean gave a noncommittal grunt in response, and followed Marco through the house. Most of the rooms weren’t that bad, just rather disused and dusty. Lately, he’d been pretty much confined to his office, with occasional trips to the bathroom, kitchen, and bedroom. And only the latter two when he surfaced from his writing long enough to remember that, yes, he did need to eat and sleep in order to function.

Speaking of the kitchen, Marco was now standing in it and apologizing profusely to Jean for the state it was in as the man wiped down the glass sliding door leading out to the deck. He looked up at Marco and scowled (Marco was beginning to think that frown was just his ‘neutral’ expression. Jean’s mouth seemed to have a natural downturn at the corners and oh god why did Marco keep staring at his lips so much). “Marco. Chill. I’ve seen worse; trust me.” He grinned, “I could tell you war stories, man. Hell, some of the stuff I’ve seen in some of those houses could probably walk in here and tell you war stories.”

 _‘I was right about his smile… Oh, god,  am I blushing? I think I’m blushing.’_ Marco coughed and buried his face in fridge to hide it. “Um, did you want some water or something to drink, Jean?”

“No thanks, I’m good.”

“Okay. Well, if you get thirsty later, feel free to help yourself to anything in the fridge. If you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work.” Jean hummed in response, and Marco went ahead and grabbed a Coke for himself. He turned around to head back to his computer and froze.

Jean was on his hands and knees now, cleaning the bottom half of the glass door, and Marco ended up looking directly at the most perfect ass he had ever seen. Then Jean leaned forward to scrub at some grime in the corner and Marco felt his mouth go dry as he watched the muscles under the taut fabric of Jean’s pants flex.

 _‘Hi, I’m Marco Bodt, professional author and hormonal teenager.’_ It took all of Marco’s willpower not to run from the kitchen and slam his office door shut behind him. Although he did allow himself a few minutes to lean back against the door and take a few deep breaths once he’d reached his quiet sanctuary. His sanctuary free of surly, sexy men that made him think highly inappropriate thoughts about someone that was, technically, his employee.

It seemed that hiring Jean Kirschstein had the potential to end up being both one of the best and one of the worst decisions of Marco’s life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hanji is a helper.
> 
> Marco is doomed. The ass is too hot to resist.
> 
> It begins.


	4. With Friends Like These

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please note that the rating has been upped to Explicit.
> 
> The smut has begun.
> 
> Also note that while the original AU idea came from Mouse, Gaydar was the one that first suggested that Marco pump Jean for stories about his dating under the pretense of "research." <3

“Hi! I’m Marco, and you are…?”

Oh shit, he was talking. He was asking for his name. _‘Focus, Kirschstein.’_

“Oh. Um, Jean Kirschstein. I, uh, I’m your new _housekeeper_.” Jean was not a maid. Women were maids. Christa was a maid. Jean was a man. A manly man.

And then Marco chuckled, and Jean’s heart skipped a beat at the warm, rich sound. _‘Correction: I am a goddamned sixteen year old girl with her first crush. I am so fucking screwed.’_

The tour of the house went well. Although Jean’s relief at there not being an upstairs was crushed by the fact that there was a finished basement. Most of it was one large rec room with a wet bar, a pool table, and one of those huge projection screen TVs that Jean was frankly _envious_ of. It was mostly clean, just dusty, as if no one had used it for a long time. The small restroom in the basement (just a toilet and sink) had the same air of disuse. The only room down here that seemed used regularly was a small gym with a stationary bike, an elliptical, and a weight station. That explained why Marco looked so fit even though his job entailed sitting on his ass all day.

Back on the main floor, the living room, dining room, bathroom, and two guest bedrooms were in the same state as the rec room: dusty, and with the feeling that no one had been in them in ages. It wasn't until they got to Marco's room that the place started to show signs of life. The bed was unmade, and the clean clothes were sitting unfolded in a hamper instead of being put away, but it really wasn't that bad. The attached master bath was about the same. One of the double sinks was way overdue for a cleaning, and the tiles in the shower were starting to mildew a bit. The chrome fixtures in the corner whirlpool tub could use a good polishing, too.

 _'God, that thing is huge. You could fit two people in there, easy.'_ Jean suddenly pictured himself sharing that tub with Marco, bubbles filling it, candlelight dancing around the room. Jean would say something, and Marco would laugh that beautiful laugh and lean toward him-

Jean mentally slapped himself. _'Stop it, Kirschstein. He's a client. You don't sleep with clients. You don't even fucking think about sleeping with clients. Get your head out of your ass.'_

Marco’s office was across the hall from his bedroom, and as soon as he saw it, Jean was very glad he wouldn’t have to organize the mess of papers scattered across the desk _and had the dude seriously scribbled notes on a used napkin?_ Jean just looked up at Marco and raised an eyebrow.

“Hah, yeah, I know. It’s really disorganized, but I guess it just works for me. I’ve always been more of a gardener-type writer anyway.”

“I’m just going to nod and pretend I have the slightest idea what you’re talking about.” Jean looked out the glass door leading to the deck and then past it to the mountains beyond. “Hey, do you mind if I bring a camera with me Wednesday? I’d like to get some pictures of that when I’m done.” Jean gestured over to the view out the window.

“No, I don’t mind.” As Marco started to lead Jean out of the room, he looked over at him with genuine interest, “You’re a photographer?”

“Freelance. It’s not exactly a steady income, though. That’s why I do…this,” Jean shrugged.

Marco laughed, “I understand. Before Rose Publishing signed me on, I used to deliver pizzas.”

“Aw, Pizza Boy Marco. Wish I’d seen that. Did you have the little baseball cap and everything?” Jean smirked.

“Of course.”

“You must have looked like such a dork.”

“I did not. I was cool.” Marco mock-pouted, but his lips kept trying to twitch up in a smile, ruining the effect.

“Yeah, coolest dork in Trost.”

The conversation was cut short by their arrival to the kitchen. Jean looked around at the pile of dirty dishes in the sink spilling over onto the counter, the absolutely stuffed-full-can’t-hold-anymore trash can, and the pile of unsorted mail and catalogs scattered over the table. “Well, now I see why you called me.”

Marco actually blushed at that. “It’s not usually this bad,” he mumbled.

 _‘Cute,’_ was all the feedback Jean’s traitorous inner voice supplied. He shook it off and clapped Marco on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll just go grab my stuff and get started.”

Marco went back to his office shortly after Jean started cleaning. Something about him seemed a little agitated when he left, but Jean just shrugged it off, figuring it had something to do with whatever he was writing.

The house really wasn’t that bad. Jean hadn’t been lying when he said it wasn’t the worst he’d seen; to this day, he would still swear that things in Dot Pixis’s apartment had _moved_ when he wasn’t looking directly at them. All in all, Marco’s place was almost pleasant in comparison.

Jean had finished cleaning everything except the office by a little after two in the afternoon. He debated cleaning it, too, but he didn’t want to disturb Marco while he was working. He could always take care of it the next time he came out. Besides, he was starving. So instead, Jean just wrote him a note saying he’d see Marco at 1 P.M. on Wednesday and left it on the (now clean) kitchen counter, grabbed his supplies and the spare key Marco had given him, and let himself out.

~~~~~

Two days later, Jean caught himself humming as he made the drive out of town. He told himself that his good mood was entirely due to the fact that he’d get to spend a couple hours with just himself and his camera out in the meadow behind Marco’s house. It had absolutely nothing to do with him getting to spend more time with the owner of said house. Nope.

So then why did he feel disappointed when he rang the bell a few minutes later and no one answered?

Jean sighed and let himself in, leaving his camera bag in the entryway before getting to work.

He’d just started washing the dishes when the basement door opened. Jean yelped in surprise, dropping the plate he was holding. It glanced off the edge of the counter and fell to the hard tiles of the floor, shattering on impact.

“Are you all right?” Of course it had been Marco coming up the basement stairs.

Jean laughed somewhat shakily and ran his hand through his hair, “Yeah, I’m fine. I just didn’t think anyone was home.” He knelt down and started picking up the pieces of broken ceramic. “I’m sorry about the plate. I can pay to replace it…”

“Don’t worry about it. The whole set was only twenty bucks at Target.” Marco crouched down next to him and started to help pick up the broken plate. “Sorry I didn’t answer the door. I can’t ever hear it from the basement, and I forgot you were coming over today.”

“S’okay. I…” Jean trailed off as he noticed, really _noticed_ , what Marco was wearing. The other man had obviously been using the gym; he was dressed in bike shorts and a tank top that was still damp with sweat and practically clung to his torso like a second skin. Jean saw that Marco had freckles all over his shoulders as well, and he found himself wondering where else on his body they were. He swallowed as he watched a drop of sweat trail down Marco’s neck to his clavicle and had to fight a sudden urge to lean forward and lick up the errant bit of moisture.

“…Jean?”

Jean’s hands twitched at the sound of Marco’s voice, and he suddenly felt a sharp pain on his index finger.

“Shit!” Jean swore and stuffed the tip of his injured finger into his mouth, flooding his tongue with the coppery taste of blood.

“Jean!” Marco clamped his hand around Jean’s left wrist. “Here, let me see it.”

Jean let him pull his hand away from his mouth and muttered, “It’s fine.”

“It is not fine! You’re bleeding!”

“It’s not that deep.”

“Stop that. Come on.” Marco tugged at his wrist, urging Jean to his feet, and then pulled him into the bathroom. Once there, he turned on the tap and made Jean wash out his cut while he pulled some antiseptic and bandages out of the cupboard. "Jeez, you really need to be more careful," Marco scolded him as he wrapped a band-aid around Jean's finger. Jean was only half-listening, however.

Mostly, he was just concentrating on how warm Marco's hands were.

~~~~~

When Jean came in on Friday, Marco was working on a laptop at the kitchen table instead of in his office. It was the first time Jean had seen Marco in glasses.

He found it rather distracting, to say the least.

_'It has to be against the law for someone to look that hot.'_

As the day went on, Jean couldn't help but notice that Marco seemed to spend more time just staring instead of typing. Sometimes he was staring at the computer screen, and sometimes he was looking out into the yard. Once, while Jean was vacuuming the living room, he glanced over his shoulder through the doorway to the kitchen and met Marco's eyes. Sighing, Jean turned off the machine and went to sit in the chair next to him.

"Okay, what's wrong?"

"Huh? What are you talking about, Jean?" Marco took off his glasses ( _damn it_ ) and gave him a curious look.

"You've been staring at that screen without typing anything for the last two hours."

Marco pushed the laptop away and glared at it as if it had killed his mother. He crossed his arms on the table in front of him, slouching down and resting his chin on them. "I'm stuck. I've been stuck for a while. I thought maybe if I tried to write out here instead of in my office it would help, but it hasn't."

"Do you want to talk about the part you're stuck on?" When Marco looked up at him, arching an eyebrow, Jean flushed a little self-consciously and looked away, "I mean, I don't know if I can help, but maybe talking about it will let you work it out yourself."

Marco looked at him for a moment, then leaned back and ran a hand through his hair, "Okay. Well, I write mostly science-fiction and fantasy. This one's sci-fi, and the heroine is basically girl-Kirk."

"Girl-Kirk?" Jean grinned.

"Yeah. You know how in Star Trek every week, Kirk was just like, seducing different green women, and no one really batted an eye? Well, I wanted to make a female character who was basically a bad-ass like Kirk, and kept getting different lovers and breaking up with them, and show that she could be like that and not be treated like a slut for it. But it's the breaking up part I keep having trouble with. I just don't have much experience with it."

Well, this was getting interesting. Jean leaned forward, "Oh really? So there's no great heart-break in Marco Bodt's life? No story of tragic romance?"

Marco shrugged, "Not really. I mean, I dated the same person basically all through high school, but we ended up going to different colleges in different states, and the long distance thing wasn't working out. So we just mutually decided to end it. I dated a little in college, but nothing ever really clicked. After college, I was busy writing my first novel and trying to get it published. And then I did get published, and I was even busier. I think the last real date I went on was...huh. It was about five years ago."

"You poor, poor man," Jean patted Marco's arm in sympathy. "Well, you just so happen to be talking to the _king_ of breaking up. The longest and most normal relationship I ever had was in my senior year in high school. I finally got my high school crush to go out with me, and we dated for about five months before we decided that we liked each other better as friends. It's all been downhill from there."

Marco visibly perked up at that. He leaned toward Jean, his eyes practically lighting up. "Care to share?"

Well, there was no way Jean could say no to someone that looked so much like an eager puppy, so he found himself obliging Marco with stories of some of his more...colorful relationships.

~~~~~

"...But one of the worst had to have been Thomas. Picture this: it's 3 A.M., _on a school night_ , and he's standing in the hall outside my dorm room, alternating between screaming and bawling his eyes out, and basically doing his best to draw as large a crowd as he can. He even ripped his own shirt, _and_ he had mascara running down his face, and he _never_ wore mascara. Dude literally put it on just for that little scene. Trust me, Marco, don't ever date a drama maj-" Jean abruptly stopped talking when he noticed an odd look on Marco's face. He looked a little pale, and his eyes were a little wider than normal as he stared at Jean. "What's wrong, Marco?" Jean tried very hard to keep a growl out of his voice.

"Um, you did say 'Thomas,' right? And 'he?'" Marco chewed his bottom lip.

"Yeah, so? And no, I wasn't 'experimenting,' and he's not the only guy I've dated, either. Do you have a problem with that?" Jean scowled at Marco, drawing his eyebrows together.

"Oh, no, sorry!" Marco smiled and waved his hands dismissively, "It just surprised me."

Jean looked at him for a moment longer. Marco met his eyes without flinching, and he seemed perfectly fine, if maybe a little flushed. Jean shrugged and decided to let it go, "Anyway, if you want to talk about one of the _really_ crazy ones, let me tell you about the last girl I was dating..."

~~~~~

Seven o'clock on Saturday found Jean standing outside the door of Reiner and Bertholt's apartment, holding a paper bag and wondering why the hell he'd actually showed up.

 _'It's for the free meal. It's not like I was actually feeling lonely or some shit,'_ he told himself for probably the fifth time as he rang the bell. He was almost starting to believe it. Almost.

The door popped open almost immediately. "Sweet, the wine's here!"

Jean rolled his eyes, "Hi, Connie. Nice to see you, too." He lifted the bag up over his head as his best friend and former college roommate reached for it, "I don't think so, Short Stack."

Connie stuck his tongue out at him and turned back into the apartment, "Stingy."

Jean laughed and followed him into the apartment, nodding to Bertholt as he kicked off his shoes by the door.

"Jean! You made it!" Sasha came bounding across the room and tackled him in a bear hug. He only staggered slightly, and then he brought a hand up to muss her ponytail.

"Hey, Sash. It's good to know at least _some_ of my friends are happier to see me than my booze."

"Bite me, Jean," Connie called out from where he was helping Bert set the table.

"Rude. You sure you want to marry this doofus, Sasha? There's still time to back out."

"Hmm..." Sasha tapped her finger thoughtfully against her chin, "Well, I did already pick out the cake. Eh, I guess Connie will do."

"Seriously, Sasha? I'm taking second place to a cake?!"

"But it's going to be a really yummy cake!"

Connie took a step back, clutching his shirt over his heart, "That hurts. I...I think I'm going to cry."

"Oh, hush," Sasha skipped over to Connie and wrapped her arms around him, nuzzling her nose into his cheek. "You know I'd marry you even if there wasn't a cake."

Jean made a retching sound in his throat and headed for the kitchen.

Predictably, Reiner was in there, just pulling a roast out of the oven. Jean set his bag on the counter, pulling out two bottles of wine and a small sack of ice. "Can you hand me a wine bucket? These need to chill a little bit more. Grand-mère sent me a whole case of Cru Beaujolais for my birthday a couple months ago."

Reiner pulled out the bucket and filled it partway with water before handing it to Jean. He picked up one of the bottles as Jean added the ice. "Brouilly? Tell your grandmother I love her."

Jean took the bottle from him and set it in the ice water with the other, “You know she’s a 63 year old woman living in Lyon, France, right?”

“Why must you always put barriers in the way of my love, Jean?”

“Your love of French wine, you mean.” Jean set the bucket on the tall counter dividing the kitchen from the rest of the apartment, and turned back to Reiner, “Where’re Armin and Annie?”

“Annie called a little bit ago; they should be here any minute,” Reiner had barely finished speaking when the doorbell rang. “Oh. Speak of the devil.”

There was a flurry of greetings as the two came in, which ended with Armin flinging his arms around Jean’s neck and repeating over and over, “I’m sorry! I’m so, _so_ sorry!”

Jean glared over the top of Armin’s head at Reiner, “You told him about Laura.” Reiner just smiled and raised his hands. Jean rolled his eyes at the big blond and awkwardly patted Armin on the head. “It’s _fine_ , Armin. It’s not your fault.”

Once he and Annie had gotten Armin to calm down and everyone had finally settled around the table for dinner, Sasha turned to Jean and piped up around a mouthful of mashed potatoes, “So, what’s this about you breaking up?”

Jean narrowed his eyes at her, “Oh, I see what this is all about. I’m _that_ friend. You all act like you’re so interested in my love life, saying how _nice_ it is that I can be with whoever I want, that I’m _free_ , and you’re just living vicariously through me, but the truth is that I’m the miserable single bastard that you married people,” here his eyes swept over Annie, Armin, Reiner, and Bertholt (who kind of looked like he wished he were somewhere else right now), “and you _almost_ married people,” he glared at Sasha and Connie, “keep around for reassurance. So that when you wake up in the middle of the night, and look at your partner, and have that inevitable thought that everyone gets, the ‘have I made a huge mistake’ thought, you can think of me and remind yourselves, ‘Well, at least I’m not as big of a social fuck-up as Jean Kirschstein.’”

Dead silence descended on the group until Annie turned to Reiner and muttered in a complete deadpan, “The idiot’s on to us.” The tension broke, and everyone started laughing.

When Jean finally stopped laughing, he turned to Annie, “Speaking of Laura, I owe you an apology, Annie.” The blonde arched an eyebrow at him. He continued, “I know you were working as a field supervisor at the Clovis dig a couple weeks ago with the University, and I know it _looked_ like Armin was there assisting Professor Zacharius, and I know it _looked_ like I was there working as the site photographer, but I’m sorry to say it was all just a clever ruse.” Jean smirked, “Because apparently, despite all the people there who saw us, and despite all the papers on the dig Armin has to grade, and despite all the pictures sitting on my hard drive, Armin and I weren’t actually there.”

“Jean, don’t…” Armin groaned and hid his face in his hands.

Jean ignored him, “I _thought_ I was there, but apparently I was actually in a shitty hotel room getting my ass pounded into the mattress. By Armin. I’m sorry I turned your husband gay.”

“Jean!” Armin lifted his face to glare at him now. The effect was somewhat spoiled by the fact that he was completely red to the tips of his ears.

“That’s okay.” Annie calmly took a sip of her wine and then looked Jean right in the eye, “They’ll never find the bodies.”

~~~~~

“So,” Sasha said, flopping down on the couch next to Jean after dinner, “You seem like you’re in a really good mood tonight.”

Jean took a drink of his wine (they’d long since finished what Jean had brought and opened up a bottle from Reiner’s personal stash) and looked at her, “Do I?”

“Yeah, dude,” Connie said as he sat on Sasha’s other side. “You’re happier than I’ve seen you in the last month.”

“I got a new client at work. He’s way nicer than a lot of the assholes I’ve had in the past, too.”

“Oh?” Armin chimed in from his seat next to Annie, “What’s he like?”

Jean scratched his head, “He’s friendly, but not in a fake way. He’s easy to talk to, but he seems kind of lonely.”

Sasha tilted her head, “What do you mean?”

“Well, he’s a writer, and he pretty much keeps to himself. His house is just outside the city, and I’ve never seen anyone out there. The way Marco talks, it seems like he only ever sees his agent…” Jean trailed off when he saw the odd looks Connie and Sasha were giving him.

Connie spoke up first, “Wait, you said this guy is a writer named Marco? Tall guy, dark hair, lots of freckles, smiles a lot, last name Bodt?”

“Yeah...wait, you guys know him?”

Connie and Sasha looked at each other, and Sasha piped up, “He went to our high school.”

Connie nodded, “He was a year ahead of us. Oh, hey! You should invite him to the wedding!”

“What? Dude, it’s in _two weeks_. It’s way too late to ask more people to come.”

Sasha tilted her head, “But Laura was going to be your plus one and now she’s not. Can’t you just ask Marco instead?”

“Yeah,” Connie chimed in, “It doesn’t look good if the best man comes without a date, anyway.”

“You’re out of your tiny mind. I am _not_ going to ask someone _I work for_ to be my _date_!” Jean sent Armin a pleading look, but the traitor just shook his head as if to say _“You’re on your own.”_

“Just ask him to go with you as a friend, then. Please, Jean?” Sasha patted his hand and looked up at him through her eyelashes, _and goddamnit, it wasn’t fair_.

Jean caved, “Fine. I’ll ask him. But he’s pretty busy, so don’t be disappointed if he says no.”

“You should ask him as your date, though.”

“Connie, what- NO. What part of ‘I work for him’ do you not understand?” Jean looked at the others. Armin was avoiding his gaze (probably getting him back for embarrassing him earlier), Annie looked completely disinterested, Bertholt was sweating nervously, and Reiner was just watching the entire exchange with a huge shit-eating grin on his face. _‘Just peachy. Fuck my life.’_

Jean shifted uncomfortably and looked away, “Besides, I don’t even know if he’s into guys.” Although, given Marco’s odd reaction yesterday, Jean was willing to bet that he was _not_.

“He’s gay.” Connie and Sasha both said in unison.

“What?” Jean stared at them. “Are you sure?”

Sasha nodded, “He dated a guy all through high school. They even went to the dances together.”

“They could have just been going as friends…” Jean weakly protested. He was sure that Marco had talked about having a _girl_ friend in high school, but then he realized that Marco had, perhaps deliberately, avoided using any gender-specific pronouns.

“Well, _I_ walked in on Marco giving the guy a blowjob once. That seems hella gay,” Connie shuddered.

Jean opened and closed his mouth a few times before he frowned and looked away, crossing his arms. “I don’t date clients,” he stated firmly.

_‘No matter how cute they are…’_

~~~~~

Jean was grateful when Reiner changed the subject, ranting about the Mariners. Jean gave a few approving or disapproving grunts every so often, but his mind wasn’t really in the conversation. About an hour later, he said his goodbyes and headed home.

Once he reached his apartment and closed the door behind him, he leaned back against it with a sigh. The same thoughts kept running in circles around his head. _‘Marco’s not straight. He’s gay. He dates guys. He’s not straight.’_

Jean moved on autopilot to his bathroom, shedding his clothes and getting into the shower. Then he just stood there under the running water for a moment wondering what he was going to do.

 _‘He’s a client. He’s off-limits. I can’t…’_ Jean bit his lip. It had been easier to deal with his attraction to Marco when he’d thought he was straight. Jean had had crushes on straight guys before; they usually died down after he spent enough time reminding himself that they wouldn’t appreciate any advances. But then Connie had to go and make it clear to Jean that Marco might actually be _very_ receptive to those kind of advances. And, being Connie, he had to do it in a way that left Jean with a very _vivid_ mental image.

_Marco on his knees, his tongue running over his full lips, hands reaching for Jean’s hips…_

Jean felt his dick twitch against his thigh, already half-hard. Without thinking, he started to run his hand down his stomach, but then he stopped himself.

_‘I can’t. I CAN’T. It’ll just make things awkward, make it harder to get over this stupid attraction.’_

But Jean still couldn’t stop himself from imagining Marco on his knees in front of him, imagine his lips wrapping around him, imagine what it would sound like, _feel like_ , when Marco moaned against him.

_‘Ah, fuck it.’_

Jean grabbed the bottle of oil he kept in the shower, pouring some into his hands. He reached down and wrapped his fingers around his cock. He started stroking himself slowly, running his thumb across the slit.

_Marco kneeled down in the shower, the water pounding against his toned back. He grabbed onto Jean’s hips, and looked up at him, his freckles standing out even against the faint blush staining his cheeks._

_“Jean…” he whispered breathily, before leaning forward and running his tongue along the thick vein, briefly dipping it into the slit._

“Marco…” Jean moaned. His eyes fluttered closed, and he leaned his head back against the tile, pumping himself faster as precum started to run down from his tip, mixing with the water flowing over his body.

_Marco took the head of Jean’s dick into his mouth, greedily lapping up the liquid that was slowly dripping out. Marco started bobbing his head up and down, sucking gently every time he withdrew. His hand came up, stroking the parts of Jean that his mouth couldn’t reach. Jean reached down and gripped Marco’s thick black hair. Marco groaned, and Jean felt the vibrations along the entire length of his cock._

“Ah! Marco!” Jean reached back with his free hand. He knelt on the shower floor and spread his legs while he leaned forward, giving himself better access to his ass. He used two fingers to tease his own entrance, before pushing them inside. He moved in and out of himself a few times until his middle finger brushed over the spot he was looking for. His whole body jolted with an intense wave of pleasure, and the rhythm of the hand still gripping his length started to grow erratic as the dual assault started to unravel him. “Ah! M-Marco! S-so…close…”

_Marco hummed and took him in even deeper, a tiny crease of concentration appearing between his brows. Jean felt himself hit the back of Marco’s throat. And then Marco swallowed around him, and it pushed Jean over the edge. His vision washed out with white, and he cried out and shuddered into Marco’s mouth._

It took Jean a few minutes to come back to himself as he trembled and panted at the bottom of his shower. It took even longer before he was able to stand up on shaky legs and hastily wash himself off in the now almost icy cold water. He quickly dried himself off and brushed his teeth before pulling on a pair of boxers and collapsing into bed. He drifted off to a deep sleep, still wrapped in the afterglow of the best damn orgasm he’d had in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up longer than the other three chapters put together (Jean has a lot to say, I guess), so I decided to have Jean actually inviting Marco to the wedding take place in the next chapter, during Marco's POV.
> 
> We'll also find out why Marco acted oddly when he heard Jean liked guys. (Hint: it's probably much the same reason why Jean freaked out when Connie and Sasha told him that Marco was gay.)
> 
> Also, the idea of a gender-bent Captain Kirk amuses me almost as much as a gender-bent James Bond. :p


	5. You're Not Helping, Hanji

When Marco had erased and rewritten the same sentence for the tenth time, he finally gave up. He leaned back in his office chair and stretched his arms up over his head.

_‘Maybe I've just been sitting too long.’_  With that thought, Marco got up and went to change into some workout clothes before heading down to the basement.

He spent a good hour running, just letting his mind go blank as he lost himself in the steady rhythm of his feet hitting the treadmill. When he went upstairs to take a shower, he felt better, looser and more relaxed.

Then he opened the basement door and heard a strangled shriek accompanied by something shattering. He looked toward the noise to see Jean standing, wide-eyed, by the sink, pieces of broken ceramic scattered at his feet.

He hadn't meant to startle Jean so badly; he really hadn't. Still, once Marco saw that Jean was fine, he couldn't help but think that it was cute how flustered he got over breaking the cheap plate. Of course, that was _before_ Jean managed to cut himself picking up the shards. Then there was that odd way the man had spaced out in the middle of talking to Marco right before the injury.

Marco dragged a protesting Jean into the bathroom. Luckily, the cut didn't look all that deep once the bleeding had stopped. Marco put a band-aid over it anyway, and if he held Jean’s hand maybe a little longer than necessary, well, Jean didn't seem to notice.

~~~~~

By Friday, Marco was about ready to tear his hair out. He had a meeting with his editor, Erwin Smith, on Monday, and he didn't have _near_ as much progress completed on his novel as he would like. He tried bringing his laptop out to the kitchen, but the change of venue didn't help. He actually found himself spending most of the time watching Jean, though he was quick to turn his eyes to the screen or the window whenever the other man would turn around.

Jean still managed to catch him staring.

He’d been vacuuming the living room, and Marco had been rather embarrassingly mesmerized by the way Jean’s shoulder flexed and the slight pivot of his hips as he moved the vacuum back and forth over the carpet. Then Jean had looked over his shoulder and met Marco’s eyes. To Marco’s relief, Jean seemed more concerned than angry; it was as if the thought had never occurred to him that Marco was staring at him because he was checking him out.

_‘Probably because **he** would never think of checking another guy out.’_ Marco’s growing suspicions regarding Jean’s sexuality were only confirmed when he started sharing stories of the break-ups he’d had in the past. They were all with women. Marco tried to push the disappointment away, and instead listened intently to Jean. This was stuff he could _use_.

And then Jean said something that shook Marco to the core.

_‘Thomas. He was talking about dating someone named Thomas. He dated a **guy** named Thomas. He dates guys, too.’_

Jean must have noticed something off about his expression, because he stopped talking and growled out, “What’s wrong, Marco?”

Marco chewed on his lip and just blurted out, “Um, you did say ‘Thomas,’ right? And ‘he?’”

"Yeah, so? And no, I wasn't 'experimenting,' and he's not the only guy I've dated, either. Do you have a problem with that?" Jean scowled at him.

_‘Oh, great. Now he thinks I’m a homophobe.’_ Marco hastily brought his hands up and smiled, “Oh, no, sorry! It just surprised me.”

Jean didn't push it any further and Marco relaxed. Their talk soon turned away from Jean’s somewhat disastrous sounding love life to other topics. They found out that they both liked sports; Jean had been on his college’s football team while Marco had played basketball. They also had similar taste in movies, although Marco was shocked when he found out Jean had never watched Blade Runner, and vowed they’d have to fix that.

“Hey, as long as we can use that huge-ass projector in your basement, I’ll watch anything,” Jean laughed and glanced out the window, “but not tonight. Shit, it’s dark out already. How long have we been talking?”

Marco pulled out his phone, “It’s twelve after nine.”

 “Seriously? Crap, I better get going.” Jean stood up from the table and started to gather his things. Marco stood up as well and walked with him to the door.

“Sorry for keeping you so late, Jean.”

Jean paused on the front porch and rubbed the back of his neck, “Don’t worry about it, man. It was actually kinda fun. I, uh, I wouldn't mind doing it again sometime.”

“I’d like that, too,” Marco smiled from the doorway.

~~~~~

After the talk with Jean, Marco’s weekend actually went pretty well. He spent all day Saturday writing and managed to get back on schedule. On Sunday, he had dinner with his family, and his mom sent him back home with a Tupperware full of freshly baked cookies. So he was in a good mood when Hanji showed up bright and early to take him to his meeting with Erwin, and, despite Hanji seeming to be interested more in pumping him for information about his new housekeeper than about his novel, he was in an even better mood when they got back to his house that afternoon after Erwin approved the draft with only a few notations of changes to make.

Jean’s car was still in the driveway, and Marco found the man himself in the kitchen, putting away the last of the dishes. And munching on a cookie. Marco honestly didn't care, but the slightly guilty, slightly panicked look Jean gave him when he stepped into the room was too good to resist.

“Jean,” he began, and Jean swallowed hastily, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking like…well, looking like a little boy that got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Marco raised an eyebrow and continued, fighting to keep his lip from twitching into a smile, “My mother made those for me. Yesterday. _I_ haven’t even had any yet.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Jean looked down at the floor before glancing up at Marco through his eyelashes, “It, uh, it won’t happen again?” His voice lilted up hopefully at the end, turning what should have been a statement into a question. Marco could almost _hear_ the unspoken “please don’t fire me.”

Before he could say anything else, Hanji shoved past Marco from behind and made a beeline for the cookies. “Marcoooo, you've been holding out on me!” she complained right before shoving one into her mouth whole. Marco sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, causing Hanji to look up at him and utter a garbled “What?”

“Nothing. Just…” he took the container from her and waved at the table, “Just go sit down like civilized people, both of you.” While they complied, Jean a bit more hesitantly than Hanji, Marco got the milk out of the fridge and poured them all glasses. When he set the milk and the cookies down on the table, Jean raised an eyebrow at him. Marco shrugged, “I’m never going to finish all these on my own before they go stale.” He then grabbed a cookie for himself before pointedly sliding the container over toward Jean.

Jean opened his mouth as if he was going to say something, but then he just shrugged and helped himself. He glanced over at Hanji before looking back at Marco, “Um, so…”

“Oh, right! Jean, this is my agent Hanji. You could probably say that it’s thanks to her I hired you; she’s actually the one that arranged everything. Hanji, this is Jean.”

Jean’s eyes widened in comprehension as he looked at Hanji, “Oh! You must be ‘shitty glasses.’” As soon as he said it, he clapped his own hand over his mouth and turned bright red. “Uh, sorry. That was just… My boss…”

Hanji just laughed, “You were right, Marco; he _is_ cute when he blushes.” Marco nearly choked on his milk as he felt his face heat up to match Jean’s. Hanji ignored him and looked at her watch, “I’d love to stay longer, boys, but I've gotta run.” She stood up, grabbing a couple cookies as she got ready to leave, “Jean, say ‘hi’ to the cranky midget for me. Have fun guys!” She waved and left, calling over her shoulder as she did, “Use protection!”

“Hanji!” Marco roared after her, but she was already gone. He turned back to the table and groaned, burying his face in his hands.

“So…” Jean let out a breathy sounding laugh, and Marco peered through his fingers at him. He had what looked like the _attempt_ of a cocky smirk on his face, but the effect was spoiled by the decidedly pink tinge on the tips of his ears. “You told her I was cute?”

Marco groaned again before scrubbing his hands across his face and up through his hair, “I refuse to answer on the grounds that it may incriminate me.”

Jean let out another short laugh before falling silent again. The silence stretched on between them until Jean, seemingly not able to take the tension any longer, changed the subject, “Hey, you went to school with Connie Springer and Sasha Blouse, right?”

“Huh?” Marco blinked in surprise, “Yeah, I…wait, how do _you_ know them?”

Jean grinned and leaned back in his chair, “It was my first year of college, on move-in day at the dorms. Dad’s parking the car, and Maman and I are trying to find my room. So, we get there, and the door is cracked open. I don’t think anything about it, and I just open the door and walk right through. The next thing I know, I’m completely drenched with water, and this plastic sand bucket bounces off my head. Maman just completely loses it behind me and starts laughing her ass off. I look up to see this bald kid standing on a chair near the door, and I swear I probably would have killed him on the spot if he hadn't looked so absolutely _terrified_. And that was how I met my roommate.”

“Oh, my God,” Marco choked out between fits of laughter, “That does sound like something Connie would do.”

“He was actually trying to get Sasha; she showed up, like, a minute after I did. I haven’t been able to get rid of the two of them since.”

Marco grinned, “That’s amazing. I haven’t talked to them in ages; how’ve they been?”

“They’re getting married in two weeks, August 9th.” Jean cleared his throat awkwardly, “Actually, they, uh, when they found out I knew you, they wanted me to bring you. As my plus one.” He looked away, seemingly unable to meet Marco’s eyes, “I mean, it’s okay if you don’t want to. I just told them I’d ask because they wouldn't quit annoying me about it, and I know you’re busy…” As he kept talking, Jean’s ears kept getting redder and redder. Marco was tempted to let him go on to see just how red they could get, but he decided to be merciful.

“I’d love to come.”

“Yeah, I understand. You've got a lot going on, and you haven’t even seen them in years, any-wait, what?”

Marco laughed at Jean’s obvious confusion, “I said ‘I’d love to come.’ Do you want to give me the address of the venue, or should we meet up somewhere else?”

“O-oh, yeah. It’s at the Santa Maria Cathedral on 104th Street. The wedding’s at 4 pm. Um…” Jean trailed off and dropped his eyes down to the table. “I've got to be there a couple hours ahead of time since I’m the best man. If…if you don’t mind leaving early, we could meet at my apartment building instead and…go together?”

Marco smiled, “I don’t mind at all, Jean. It’s a date.”

“It’s not a _date_.” Jean muttered as he bit into another cookie.

Marco couldn't help noticing that the tips of the other man’s ears had gone completely red again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, the wedding! Finally!
> 
> And hey, maybe drunk Jean.
> 
> Drunk Jean is fun.


End file.
